


Love, Disease, Life.......

by FrannieHopkirk



Series: Poems of Love and Hate [1]
Category: Crossfire Series - Sylvia Day
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29450235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrannieHopkirk/pseuds/FrannieHopkirk
Summary: It's in the title....... Poetry
Series: Poems of Love and Hate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163186





	Love, Disease, Life.......

LOVE DISEASE LIFE.  
A POEM IN 3 PARTS

LOVE.

DARKNESS IN THE WOMAN  
DARKNESS IN THE LANDSCAPE  
REFLECTED THE WOMAN.  
I AM THAT WOMAN.

SICK FROM DREAMING I AWOKE.  
THE- STILL DARK NIGHT LAY AROUND  
ME. THE LONG ARM OF LONGING LAY  
ACROSS MY SHOULDERS. A WILD ANIMAL  
PROWLED THROUGH MY HEART.  
THE NARCOTIC OF LOVE HAD TURNED  
TO BITTER WAKING GORE.

IS PURE SWEET PASSION THE TERRITORY  
OF INNOCENCE ALONE WHEN PASSION ITSELF  
DOTH INNOCENCE TAKE. BEFORE THE SHINING  
EYE BECOME A GLEAM, OR YOUTH’S FRAGRANT  
MOUTH BE FOULED AND MEAN.  
MY HEART IS TIRED WITH SORROW  
AND I CANNOT SPEAK.

TOUCHED BY FEAR AND ONCE TOUCHED,  
MADE MANIFEST. LONELINESS CLOSES IN  
SHUTTING OUT THE GATHERING DARK.  
TURN ON THE LIGHTS. MY HEART BEATS  
NOISLY IN THE SILENCE, A DISTANT DOG BARKS.

THE NIGHT PROCEEDS, QUIET AND PREGNANT  
WITH NEED. HIS VOICE ON THE PHONE, TOO BUSY  
TO TALK. TEARS AFRESH. OH GOD, I WANT HIM  
BACK. NO, TIME, NO TIME. UP IT COMES:  
PASSION’S FLOTSAM ON THE TIDE.  
BUT IT DOESN’T WASH CLEAN. GONE  
FOREVER GONE. MY GOD I MUST SURELY  
HATE HIM BY NOW.

TEARS, BRINE OF AGES LURK IN MY HEAD  
TEARS, RAIN ON MY PARCHED SOUL.  
I TRIED HARD FOR YOU,  
I LOVED YOU. I LOVED YOU SO. 

WHAT WAS IT YOU WERE ALWAYS  
ABOUT TO SAY BUT NEVER SAID IT?  
THAT YOU NO LONGER LOVED ME?  
LIFE IS UNIMAGINABLE WITHOUT YOU,  
YET YOU ARE GONE.

THE COLD KNIFE- EDGE  
OF WHAT I HAD BECOME  
GRAZED MY CHEEK. CHILL  
AS THE WIND OF CHANGE:  
SELF -SUFFICIENT, INSOLENT,  
INTOLERANT, EXPECTANT.

DRUNK, DRUNK THE MESSENGER  
FROM OUTSIDE. DRUNK ON WHAT,  
I SAY? I SEE NO REASON TO BE DRUNK!  
IS IT ME WHO IS SOBER? OR IS IT THE  
DRUNK WHO IS SOBER?

ONE CAN GO BACK AND BACK  
GATHERING UP ALL ONE’S LITTLEGRIEFS,  
FORMING TOGETHER  
LIKE CLAY – A CLAY HEART.

DISEASE.

THE DRUG RAN THROUGH ME LIKE BLUE ICE –  
BUT THE ICE WAS VAN GOGH YELLOW.  
SHIVERING AND HEAVING IN ORGASMIC HORROR,  
MY BODY RECEIVED THE POISONS. REALITY HAD  
BECOME A YELLOW CHEMICAL.

MY BODY, IRREVOCABLY CHANGED, COMPLAINS.  
MY HISTORY, PRODUCT OF MYSTERY, IS A DAM  
WAITING TO BURST, BURST WITH THE PAST  
URGENT TO FLOW TO TAKE THE FUTURE.

I LAY BEFORE THE ENFOLDING PLASTIC RIBBONS, PORTAL TO HELL - GREY PLASTIC GUMS SLAPPING OPEN AND CLOSED, A DISMAL CURTAIN SUCKING GREEN- CLAD FACELESS PEOPLE IN AND OUT SOUNDLESS SHOES PADDING, A MOUTH FLAPPNG, FLAPPING LIKE A HUNGRY KILLER WHALE.

SOMEONE STOPS BY MY TROLLEY. WE ARE PARTNERS IN GREEN. HE STARES DOWN AT ME HOLDING A PEN.  
“I WANT TO MARK YOUR BREAST” HE SAYS WITH INDIFFERENCE, “SO THAT THE SURGEON WILL KNOW  
WHERE TO CUT”.

A MAP IS DRAWN WITH A RED TEXTA ON TISSUE I WILL NEVER SEE AGAIN. THIS BREAST, MY BREAST, TAP OF GOODNESS SUCKELLED SIX YEARS OF CHILDREN HUNGRY FOR LIFE. THE ORGAN, TIGHT, WHITE, PURPLE AND BROWN, THE MOTHER OPEN TO THE MILKY MOUTH. 

THE GATES OF PURGATORY FLAP, SUCKING PEOPLE IN AND OUT. UNNATURAL SOUNDS EMIT FROM A LARGE ROOM BEYOND THE FLAPS, A CAST OF SILENT PEOPLE IN A CHOREOGRAPHIC EXPECTATION OF BLOOD, SIGNALLING THE ORDINARINESS OF MY SITUATION, THE SOCIALISM OF MY LIFE – A GREEN COSTUME ON A TROLLEY SPORTING A RED- PENNED MAP OF GATHERING DISFIGUREMENT AND THE STRANGE GRIEF TO COME – ONCE PROUD PART OF MY WOMANLINESS SOON TO BE GONE, FLUNG INTO THE SURGEON’S DISPOSAL BIN, IN THAT BIG WHITE ROOM TEEMING WITH MENACE.

PRESENTLY THE TEXTA MAN RETURNS, THIS TIME WITH A HYPERDERMIC. “COUNT BACKWARDS FROM TEN” HE INTONES. MY TIME AS COME TO PASS THROUGH THE PLASTIC INTO THE BRIGHT, WHITE WORLD OF ‘THE THEATRE’ A WORLD POPULATED BY ALIENS IN HATS, MASKS, CLOTH SHOES MUFFLED VOICES AND DARTING EYES. LAST GLIMPSE OF THE WORLD AS I KNEW IT BEFORE OBLIVION CREEPS THROUGH ME. TOO LATE I WONDER IF I WILL DREAM, I DO NOT.

DREAMING IS OVER BABY – THIS IS REALITY.

AFTERWARDS

SO I GRIEVE THE LOSS OF MY BREAST.  
MY PRIDE ONCE FULL AND HEAVY. SUCKED  
BY LOVERS, STROKED BY CHILDREN?  
HALF OF ME GONE. A SURGEON, HAS  
CUT ALONG THE DOTTED RED LINE.  
I LOOK DOWN ON AN ALIEN LANDSCAPE,  
PITTED, PUCKERED, PLUNDERED.

I AM AT A CONFLUENCE OF POWERFUL MISFORTUNE:  
MY BROTHER HAS DIED. MY HUSBAND GONE TO ANOTHER. DO I WANT TO DIE? DO I?  
MADDNESS CROWS AT THE PORTALS OF MY HEART,  
INSANELY I YAP AT ITS HEELS. I WANT TO LEAVE I WANT TO RETURN. I WANT ALL THESE THINGS RETURNED TO ME LOST FROM MYSELF I STRANGELY FEEL NO HATE. GRATEFULLY, I AT LEAST AM SPARED THE DULL HORRORS OF DISAPPOINTMENT.

THEY TOOK MY BREAST BUT THAT WAS NOT ENOUGH.  
THEY TOOK MY BLOOD, POISONED IT, THEN SAID – WHAT  
ELSE HAVE YOU GOT? THEN THEY TOOK MY TIME.  
GAVE ME PERCENTAGES, LAID IT ALL DOWN, DEMANDED MY PRESENCE TO TEST HOW SICK I WAS.

THEY GAVE ME AVERAGES. THEY LAID IT ALL DOWN. THEY DEMANDED MY PRESENCE. THEY SAID IT WOULD ALL GET WORSE. DRIVE FOR 6 HOURS, PAY MONEY, AND WE WILL TELL YOU WHAT ELSE WE WANT. THIS IS NOT OVER YET – IT MAY NEVER BE OVER.

THEN THEY FRY ONE OF MY LUNGS. LEFT TOO LONG  
IN A LARGE WHITE ROOM WEARING BLINDING LIGHT, DISGUISING THE EVIL, THEY LEAVE ME TO MY FATE WITH A MACHINE WHICH PENETRATES THE LUNG WHERE A BREAST ONCE LAY, AND BURN IT. MY RIGHT LUNG DESTROYED IN A TEA BREAK. 

THIS IS THE GIFT, THE DEADLY FAREWELL BLESSING FOR MY FUTURE LIFE. I WAS NOT THEIR HOSTAGE FOR NOTHING – THEY TOOK MY BREAST, THEN THEY TOOK MY LUNG. SUCK ON THAT, BITCH. 

WHAT IS IT ONE WAITS FOR, WAITING FOR SLEEP?  
IS IT THE SENSATION OF LIFE PASSING IN THE NIGHT, TIME WANDERING PAST IN SNATCHES OF USELESS THOUGHT, DARK MOTHS OF WORRY? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR - SLEEP TO ANILATE REMORCELESS  
TICK-TOCKING OF IDLENESS? THE MAN IS GONE.  
EVERYTHING SINKS DEEPER.

NIGHT SETTLES SLOWLY. A SMALL PLANE HURRIES HOME,  
DOGS STRAIN AT THEIR CHAINS. SHEEP TRUDGE TO CAMPS, MEN ENTER PUBS, CHILDREN THEIR  
BATHS, WOMEN THEIR KITCHENS.  
CHIMNEYS DISGORGE INTIMACY  
IN RIBBONS OF WHITE.

A FREIGHT TRAIN BREAKS OPEN THE NIGHT, LIGHTS  
CATCHING A CORNER OF MY ROOM. GALAHAS FLASH  
A PINK, GREY DAWN, THE FORCE OF WINGS ALMOST BLOWING MY HAIR. LARGE TREES SUCKING THEM IN SPEWING THEM OUT, AIR FILLED WITH PINK AND GREY, BIG BIRDS LITTERERING THE COLOURS OF A RISING SUN, SHOUTING PLEASURE IN A NEW DAY.

LET THE FUTURE FALL IN LOVE WITH ME.

AMEN.

FRANNIE HOPKIRK  
MILLTHORPE  
20 /16 /17/ 18


End file.
